Rain Wilds Chronicles

by Robin Hobb

  She stared at him, her eyes wide. Then she looked out over her city again. A ribbon of destruction, encircling the Duke’s stronghold, was now clearly visible from the tower. It was growing wider, the swath of collapsed buildings and melted bodies growing closer. The dragons’ plan was obvious. All within the circle would be drenched with acid venom. They stood in the center of oncoming death.

  “My people,” she said softly.

  “They’re fleeing. Look at the streets, the more distant ones.” Selden sat up shakily. Fear gives a man strength, he thought to himself.

  “The dragons aren’t following them.” Chassim spoke slowly as she looked down at the streets choked with people. It looked as if every inhabitant of the city was running away from them. “My father. The Duke. They’ve come for him, haven’t they?”

  Selden managed a nod. “I’m sorry. They will destroy everything to get at him, I think.”

  “I’m not sorry.” She spoke the words without remorse. “I pity my people. I am saddened to see them terrified. But I do not pity my father or the end he has brought upon himself. Nor am I sad that he will not drain you dry and bring your body back to me. That, at least, I am spared.”

  Abruptly, she sat down on the floor beside him. He reached out blindly and took her hand into his. Tears were running down her cheeks, but a smile trembled on her lips. “We will still die together.” With a shaking hand, she reached for the teapot. “Will you have a last cup of tea with me?”

  He turned his gaze on her. An odd calmness was welling up in him. “I would rather have a kiss. My first and last, I think.”

  “Your first kiss?”

  He laughed shakily. “My circumstances have not lent themselves to the giving or receiving of kisses.”

  She blinked and the tears spilled faster. “For me, also.” She leaned a little closer to him and then stopped.

  He looked at her. She had closed her eyes. Her hair was sleek, her skin like cream, her lips pink. Her first kiss would come from a scaled dragon man. He leaned in and found her mouth with his. He kissed her softly, unsure of how it was done, expecting her to pull away in revulsion. Instead, when he leaned back, she was smiling through her tears.

  “To be touched by a man, with gentleness,” she said, as if that wonder were so great it dispelled the circling dragons.

  He put his bandaged arm around her, and she leaned close to him. Together they watched as the dragons swept out of sight. A moment later, they returned in another sweeping arc. For the first time he saw that two of them carried riders. Their scaled bodies gleamed in the sun as brightly as the dragons they bestrode. One of the dragons trumpeted, and suddenly the three of them swept in a wider, lower circle. As the dragons flew, they gave cry. Gleaming droplets of acid venom drifted from their wide-stretched mouths, and then they suddenly beat their wings more strongly, all three rising above the path of death they had spewed.

  Chassim put her arms around him. She held him closer, and her face was white as she said quietly, “It looks a quick way to die. Perhaps faster than a fall.” She helped him to stand. He clung to the stone railing of the balcony and they looked down on the city.

  In the distance, the streets were full of fleeing people. Horns vied with screams to fill the air, but the trumpeting of the dragons triumphed over all. They fled away from the widening circle of scorched earth. A circle, a moat of death and crumbling masonry, was forming around the Duke’s grand palace. Selden saw the dragons’ plan clearly now. “They will seal the castle so there is no escape without running into the venom on the ground. And then they will slowly destroy it,” he said quietly. The plan came so clearly into his mind. He could almost see it unfolding as if he were with the dragons above. He lifted his eyes to the sky.

  “I wish we could live,” Chassim said wistfully. “I wish I could live to see Chalced dragged out from under my father’s foot.” She turned her face and her soft lips brushed his scaled cheek. “I wish we could live,” she whispered.

  “Tintaglia!” He cried out his dragon’s name with every ounce of strength he had, shouted it in desperation. “Tintaglia! If you live, then I do, also! Blue queen, gem of the skies, where are you?”

  Reyn felt sickened, but not by the swaying flight of the dragon. Below him, buildings were slowly crumbling. Those too slow to flee had fallen beneath dragon spray. He had pulled his tunic up over his head and tugged the sleeves down over his hands, having seen what dragon venom could do. He viewed the world through a narrow fabric window and wished devoutly he did not have to see that much.

  He could not fault the courage of the Chalcedean soldiers. He had watched them loose arrows that arced far beneath the dragons and then watched their ranks literally melt in a fall of acid. Some gave way to the dragons’ glamour as they overflew them, breaking to run. But they ran the wrong way, away from the stronghold and into the acid-riddled streets that now ringed it. Poor bastards. He caught a stinging whiff of dragon venom and drew his shirt tighter over his face.

  He tried to admire the dragons’ strategy. No dragon flew behind or below any other. They had broken into groups, and in each group, each dragon flew alongside the others, all spewing their venom so that it fell below them, and then they turned back and retraced their arc, each time getting closer to the center of the Duke’s castle. Their timing was perfect, so that the dragon groups never encountered one another. The outer walls of the castle had received several passes. They were old and very stout, but the dragons were intent on killing people, not crumbling stone. Within the arcs they had overflown, nothing moved.

  Tintaglia shuddered suddenly and broke ranks. She rose so sharply that Reyn lunged from the shelter of his tunic, thrusting his hands clear of his sleeves to seize her harness. He thought she would loop over backward. “Are you hit? Have they hurt you, Tintaglia?”

  “Hark!” she responded and shot higher in the air with a speed that left him gasping. Above all the other dragons, she banked in a tight circle over the Duke’s stronghold. Where? Where? Where? she demanded, ignoring Reyn’s cries of “What is it? What is wrong?”

  And then she was diving, diving alone on the tallest tower of the keep, ignoring the angry trumpeting from Icefyre that she was ignoring their plans. Reyn could do nothing but hold tight to her harness and bellow his terror as she arrowed straight for the side of the tower.

  “She comes like a blue star falling through the heavens. She is the Empress of Destruction, the Queen of Vengeance, and if I must die, let her deliver my death to me!”

  “That is her? She is like the fire inside a blue opal!” Chassim stared, her eyes wide in terror and delight. Her body was behind his, holding him pressed against the stone balustrade so he could stand, watching the blue miracle streaking toward them.

  Selden lifted his voice and found that not all music had fled from him.

  “She is both wise and terrible. Clever beyond cleverness is hers, swift winged, sharp taloned, and keen of sight. Tintaglia!” His voice broke on the last word.

  Tintaglia tipped back, giving them a view of her sparkling belly and the glittering claws on her feet.

  Chassim held him tightly, but her entire body was quivering. “Like glittering blue steel is she! Bring my death then, lovely one. We await you.”

  But it was not her jaws that came at them, but her clasping front talons. Chassim staggered back from the brink as Tintaglia seized the stone balustrade of the balcony and clung, the wind of her battering wings a hurricane around them. The talons of her front feet scored and slipped on the stone balustrade; her hind feet were braced on the tower below, and the wind of her wings battered all. Cracks raced through the stone railing.

  “Climb up, climb up now, now, NOW!” The man on her back was roaring the words, and then, “Climb now, now!” commanded the dragon, the words echoing through Selden’s bones.

  He tried hard to do as she commanded, but the weakness of his body betrayed him. He felt Chassim grip the back of his robe and push him forward. He caught at the stra
p on the dragon’s chest. The man on the dragon clambered down the harness, clamped a grip on his bandaged wrist, and dragged him up. He screamed in pain and scrabbled feebly with his feet, then his hands found leather and iron rings to grip. Chunks of the balcony were falling away as the dragon tore them free in her desperate bid to cling to the side of the tower. The rider dragged him up and held him before him on the dragon’s back. Selden sagged forward, and then gripped tight as the dragon pushed off from the tower face. She swooped away from the structure as he screamed, “Chassim! No, go back, Tintaglia, fair queen! Chassim!”

  “I . . . am . . . here!” Her voice was weak with terror.

  He looked down. Chassim clung grimly to the rings of Tintaglia’s harness, her garments whipping in the wind as the dragon fell suddenly away from the tower. He more saw than heard her wild scream as they plummeted together.

  Then, with a sickening lurch, the fall became a glide. With a beat, beat, beat of Tintaglia’s powerful wings, they slowly began to rise. Chassim, her teeth bared in a determined snarl, her hair a wild stream of glory around her face, climbed doggedly, ring by ring, until his reaching hand closed over her wrist. Wisely, she did not trust his grip, but he could not let her go. Ring by ring, she came closer and then was hugging him as tightly as the man who held on to him. He twisted to see the rider and found himself looking upon an Elderling such as Selden had seen only in old tapestries.

  “Sir, I thank you,” he gasped. “Oh, Tintaglia, blue queen of the skies, most powerful and wisest of all dragons, I give you thanks.”

  “Little brother, I am always doomed to find you in the damnedest places,” the rider said, and abruptly he knew that it was Reyn who clasped him so securely. “You look but two heartbeats this side of death,” Reyn added.

  “If only you knew,” Selden replied. He was suddenly dizzy and faint with relief. “What do you here? Whence come all these dragons?”

  “Don’t you know them?” Tintaglia was ignoring her riders, carrying them higher and higher above the city, away from the death and destruction below them. “You saw them encased, you saw them hatched! We come from Kelsingra, Selden, and we come to kill the Duke of Chalced for daring to hunt dragons for their blood.”

  He felt Tintaglia’s assent to those words course through him, strong with her anger.

  “But what of you? You sent us no word! Your sister thinks you’re dead, and your mother fears she is right. What happened to you? I do not think you were in that tower willingly, by the look of you. And who is this you have brought with you?” Reyn asked.

  Selden drew breath, but before he could reply, Chassim spoke for herself. “My name is Chassim. And if this glorious queen and her dragons are able to fulfill their mission today, by nightfall I shall be the rightful Duchess of Chalced. And in your debt.”

  Day the 10th of the Greening Moon

  Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

  From Selden Vestrit, Singer to Tintaglia, Kelsingra

  To Keffria and Ronica Vestrit of the Bingtown Traders, Bingtown

  Dear Mother and Grandmother,

  I write this tiny scroll to be carried by Tarman to Trehaug and from there dispatched by Dunwarrow to Bingtown. A much lengthier account of my misadventures will follow, in a scroll far too heavy for any pigeon to bear. I will ask Alise to pass it to Althea to bring home to you.

  For now, the essentials. I was betrayed by my companions. I was held captive and eventually treated as a slave in Chalced. But I am alive, and once more in the incomparable company of the magnificent queen Tintaglia, to whom I owe my life and the restoration of my health. I do not wish to go into great detail about the trials I have endured, especially not on this tiny slip of paper. I will say only this now; I assure you, I am recovering and among good people.

  You will doubtless hear many strange rumors about my role in the fall of Chalced and my friendship with Duchess Chassim. I will say only that the truth is undoubtedly stranger than any gossip you may hear, and the truth is what you shall have from me when the scroll arrives.

  Mother, you ask me when I will come home to stay. Please do not take these words amiss. I am home. In Kelsingra, among the other Elderlings and near the dragons, I feel more at peace and more safe than I have felt in many months. My sister, Malta, is here, and Reyn, like a brother to me for so many years, and so many other Elderlings! The beauty of the country here is healing by itself, and I have access to thousands of records of Elderling dragon poets who have gone before me. I am almost shamed to think I considered myself a singer, now that I have heard for myself the poets of old! And there are traditional songs that I must learn, songs for welcoming dragons, for celebrating the first flight of a hatchling, songs to thank dragons for sharing their presence with us. I think it will take me a score of years before I shall again claim I am a competent singer!

  This does not mean I do not wish to see you. When my health permits, I will come for a visit. And I hope that in time you and Grandmother will be willing to undertake the journey to see me here. I would show you my city and introduce you to the keepers and the other dragons. Especially Tintaglia’s mate, Kalo. Such a handsome fellow, and so strong! I am as pleased to see her with him as I am sure you were delighted to see Malta settle with Reyn.

  For now I must let this missive be enough, for I am already weary with writing this. Please be patient. A more detailed account will soon be in your hands.

  As ever,

  Your Selden

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Summer

  It had begun rather formally as afternoon tea in the captain’s stateroom on the Paragon. But by the end of the first hour, it had become mugs of coffee on the foredeck of the liveship, with the figurehead fully involved in the conversation. Tarman was moored alongside Paragon at the docks of Trehaug. Alise wondered if the two ships communicated on a level that excluded humans, but decided it would be rude to ask. It seemed decades since she had last been aboard Paragon. She looked back at her memory of the journey to the Rain Wilds and recalled her awkward conversation with the ship and with Althea and Brashen Trell. She laughed to herself, but no one remarked on it, for Paragon was in the middle of a lively tirade against the indignity of transporting chickens and sheep.

  “And I wish Tarman well with the nasty creatures. Worse than seagulls for squawking and mess on the decks.”

  “Perhaps so, but our boy is going to miss them,” Brashen observed.

  “I think he’ll miss the fresh eggs more than he’ll miss the messes he’s had to clean up,” Althea countered, laughing. She stood up and leaned to see past the deckhouse. “He and Clef have just about finished transferring the stock to Tarman’s deck. So we have perhaps ten more minutes of adult conversation before you are inundated with questions about the dragons and the One Day War.”

  “We’ll be happy to answer them as best as we can,” Alise said. “Not that we were there for any of it. And if we are to believe what every dragon told us of it, then each one was personally responsible for the fall of the city and the death of the Duke.”

  “And the rise of a Duchess,” Althea added. “We’ve had bird messages from Selden, but they are not very satisfactory. We have only the bones of his tale, and each time he writes, we learn a bit more; but he also tells us that still he cannot come home just yet. That there are still things he must ‘settle’ there in Kelsingra.” Her emphasis on the word settle made it clear that she thought there was more going on than her nephew had confided. She looked from Alise to Leftrin, perhaps seeking confirmation or gossip.

  Leftrin spoke hastily. “Your youngster looks like he knows his way around a deck. When you think he’s ready to try a term under a different captain, he’d be welcome aboard Tarman. Things are a bit more rustic and he’d be sleeping in the deckhouse with the crew, but I’d be glad to foster him for a trip or two.”

  Brashen and Althea exchanged a look, but it was not his mother who said, “Not quite old enough yet. But I’ll take you up on that
offer when he is. I know he’d like to see his aunt and uncle soon. Not to mention his cousin Ephron.” Brashen smiled as he attempted to change the subject. “When do you think Malta and Reyn might be bringing the baby downriver for a visit?”

  “You’d take Boy-o off my decks?” Paragon was appalled.

  “Only for a short time, ship. I know he’s yours as much as ours,” Brashen replied placatingly. “But a slightly wider circle of experience wouldn’t hurt him.”

  “Hmph.” The figurehead crossed his arms on his carved chest. His mouth went to a flat line. “Perhaps when Ephron is old enough to take his place here for a time. An exchange of hostages, as it were.”

  Brashen rolled his eyes at them. “He’s in a mood today,” he said in a low voice.

  “I am not in a mood! Merely pointing out that you are a liveship family, and that you should think well before letting one of our own go off on another liveship, with no guarantees that he will be returned. Ideally, the exchange should be a member of Tarman’s family.” He turned his gaze to Leftrin and Alise. “Do you expect to breed soon?”

  Leftrin choked on his tea.

  “Not that I’m aware,” Alise replied demurely.

  “A pity. It might be productive for you just now.” Paragon was politely enthused.

  “Can we please just not?” Althea asked him, almost sharply. “It’s bad enough to have you offering Brashen and me your helpful insights into productive breeding without you extending your wisdom to our guests.”

  Alise could not tell if Brashen were embarrassed or red from suppressing laughter.

  “It was Tarman’s suggestion that they might find such information helpful, as so far they have enjoyed breeding, but fruitlessly. That’s all.” Paragon was unflustered.

  Brashen cleared his throat suddenly. “Well, speaking of hostages—”

  “Were we?” his ship interjected curiously.